Category: Uncategorized

I am not a photographer. I know this because I saw something of a terrible beauty tonight and yet I could not lift my camera from around my neck.

As some of you might be painfully aware, Europe has been hit with a cold snap. One that neither humans nor nature knows on a regular basis in this corner of Provence. Tonight, Remi wanted to take a drive in the Camargue, the immense swampy region and regional park to the south of Arles. It is austere under the best of conditions, I would have thought that we would be alone, as the temperatures had taken a dive to -12°C and yet no. The tiny back roads surrounding the Etang de Vaccares were as full as a Sunday in July, save that nearly every car had pulled over to take a photo of the frozen water (either an enormous pond or small lake depending on your opinion) as it was the first time that it had been frozen over since 1985. 

I wish that the ice, stopped as waves lining the shore, was the only issue. However, we spoke to a park ranger who had collected in the trunk of his car ten flamant roses or flamingos that had frozen. While we spoke, one flew over my head and perched nearby in a tiny pool where the ice had not yet taken its hold. My empathy got caught in my throat.

In parting we saw a flutter of pink at the side of the swamps. A flamingo wing. It was perfect in its shape and color, glowing against the faded background of the winter reeds. A supremely delicate contrast. And yet I couldn’t capture it, too saddened by all we can’t control and how little most of us do to protect our planet when we can…

Ah, the decorating domino effect. We really have been careful about what we bring into this new apartment as we already have too much of muchness, especially as far as art is concerned. But when I found this Gobelins tapestry for, I’ll admit it, 15 Euros (since several of you have asked), I couldn’t resist. As it is gigantic, there was only one place for it that really worked, above the fireplace in the bedroom. We still haven’t had the moment to gallery hang it but are thrilled with the peace that it brings. Similarly, I am loving the soft light emanating from the mercury mirror that has now by default been shifted to the living room. Win, win.

Speaking of winning, I was recently given two awards for Lost in Arles. Hooray! The incredible Karin, a veritable one-woman walking Wiki of good taste, was kind enough to give me the Blog on Fire Award in January. Do you know her blog, La Pouyette? To give you an idea, she recently constructed an imaginary dinner party for 12. Her invitées included Frederick the Great, Karl Lagerfeld and Oscar Wilde. Impeccable. Merci, Karin!

As part of accepting this award, I need to tell you five things about myself that you may not know:

1) When I am as homesick for the States as I am right now, I admit that given the opportunity to have either an authentic Sunday Brunch or a menu degustation at a Michelin-starred restaurant, I would, without hesitation, chose the brunch. Tragically, I would probably also pick peanut butter over foie gras. 

2) I have a built-in radar that can hear a champagne cork popping within a five-mile radius. 

3) I once sang “Summertime” for a tribe on Tanna Island in Vanuatu in the Pacific to thank them for performing a dance for me.

4) Secret talent: Killer yoga toes.

5) To my shame? I have the worst memory for faces of anyone I know. Not such a big deal while living in Manhattan when the chances of running into someone you know are slim but in a small town like Arles? Very, very embarrassing. 

Natalie Rapoport lives in Toronto but is a world-traveller who loves to share those special moments, les petites bijoux, that we come across as we go. Hence her charming blog, Jewel yet to find. I love her patient eye and her attention to detail so was very excited when she decided to send me the Liebster Blog Award. Wow! Thank you so much, Natalie.

Something wonderful that both of these awards have in common is that they are in recognition of blogs with under 200 followers. So I am happy to pass on the baton to five of my favorite small blogs and am awarding them BOTH the Blog on Fire Award and the Liebster Blog Award. 

1) I dream of. With such a title, I knew that I would be hooked but Jeanne’s blog has instantly become one of my favorites. Why? She has so much heart, as corny as that sounds, not to mention oodles of talent. I am predicting here that she will become a darling of the design blog world.

2) Looking Glass. Clare is a classic beauty, a model and an actress but that is where the classicism stops. She always has surprises up her sleeve, including a very frank series where she interviewed burlesque performers. Have to love that Aussie mix. 

3) Shifting Gears. Judith Ross is an accomplished writer whose intelligence and authenticity never cease to inspire me. This blog is dedicated towards “navigating middle age and beyond” and she does so with a light hand. 

4) oh-fancy that. Four really funny and fabulous ladies that have an amazing take on DIY, fashion, food (a favorite post is the recipe for pecan, bourbon and butterscotch bread pudding). Just read their “About Us” and try and not be addicted. For sure they will be wondering “An award from who?” but I love your blog!

5) Concrete Jungle. Heather doesn’t post all the time but I never know from what part of the world she will when she does. Girl gets around. An interior designer based mainly out of Thailand, she puts her trained eye to good use, no detail is too small. To boot, she has formed a great charity to help out at home.

There are few other blogs that were awarded at the same time I was otherwise, they would be on this list and are well worth the gander:

and Helen Tilston Painter, who, I am assuming has already been given both of these awards…

We stopped the car, realizing that we were, well, if not lost than entirely on the wrong road. As I got out to stretch my legs, I sucked in my breath from the cold and the sight of a liquid cloud, spread across the sky like an ink stain. “It is snowing in there,” I thought to myself with pleasure, imagining all the things in nature that we don’t see but are right there in front of us.

Once safely on the other side of the mountain, we stopped in a field outside of a small village. Neither the field nor the village had yet awoken from the night before. Frost glistened and dew dropped from winter berries and their pom-pom fronds.

Remi and I had spoken the day before about my timidity in photographing people so when we both saw this Citroen 2CV battling down the lane, he pushed me to flag it down.

Hooray! Just a bit of fun. Last night Remi and I were skulking around an especially unpromising Depot-Vente or junk shop in the suburbs of Arles. Each went their separate ways, only half-heartedly in the hunt. And yet, what did I spy tucked behind a bulky dresser? A bit of tapestry. Yes, I know, tapestry can be so old-fashioned as to be sad.  But no, this one is so perfectly faded that its remaining colors only give the tiniest suggestion of what it once was. I called Remi over and with a heave he extracted it from its dusty realm. And as you can see, we swooped it up. For a song. A mere pittance. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.

Especially as when we got it home I spied a label on the back frame: “Panneaux Gobelins”. 

It is so long, 2.2 meters that I am not sure where we can put it, but trust me, I will find a place. Aren’t such gifts from the world encouraging?

While some fine ladies are willing to take the TGV for hours in order to fill a craving for truly Parisian pastries, I found myself seeking a change of season and was ready to go to equally great lengths to get it. Luckily, Remi had a similar idea brewing. We both were in need of snow. 

As wonderful as Provence is, it can be, well, a bit monochromatic with its skies that are forever blue. I grew up mainly in the Midwest, where each period of the year is marked by wildly different weather. Sweat would drip from the back of my knees as I scampered away from a summer bound dodge ball just as the winter wind would whip up tears that froze on my cheeks. I loved it all and miss that excitement of change.

We piled into the Range Rover with Ben in the back as well as enough clothing and supplies to last us for a few days. And yet we weren’t going far. Our base was the town of Sisteron, only a little more than a two hours drive from Arles. I never tire that in France you can shift your landscape so easily.

I have written quite a lot about the Luberon, most recently in my one too many posts on the questionably cute or not cute village of  Loumarin. But we were headed beyond the Peter Mayle zone to the Alpes-de-Haut-Provence, an area relatively unvisited save by Provençals heading to one of the local ski slopes or motorcyclists cruising the Napoleon Road. 

We fretted as we drove north. The ground was dry until Gap. Was our search in vain? As we turned up the long hill to the Abbaye de Boscodon, smiles spread slowly across our faces. The higher we climbed, the deeper the snowfall. Success! Ben, our Golden, had never experienced more than a mere dusting and so did not quite know to make of such snow but soon enough he was bouncing like a bunny and shaking every stick he could find with ferocious glee.

We crossed fields where there were no other footprints but our own and I took care to put my feet in Remi’s tracks, to leave as little trace of my passing as possible.